After the Flood
by WretchedEscapist
Summary: "How could a figment of Sam's tortured soul produce something so real? It didn't seem like it should have been possible..."


A/N: This is an unfinished fic I thought would be nice to share, until I get the inspiration to maybe finish it. Hope you enjoy.

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After the initial flood, the ailment of Sam's beaten and maimed soul rapidly spiraled down into something which Castiel could contain. He did not require sleep like Sam did, and he was multitudes more powerful in spirit, body and mind. Powerful enough to handle the agony, and even if he wasn't, at least his final act would not be what it had been before.

To anyone else, the relentless battle against the fostered demons appeared only as Castiel staring off into space for days on end. Had anyone tried, they would not have been able to snap him out of his trance; he would not have been aware they were even in the same room as him.

Within the battleground there was no light, and the darkness was freezing; it mattered not that he couldn't see, because he never let the blight escape his grip for long. Whenever he got close, close enough to force the frantically writhing, tangled scar of mangled human soul down to tear it asunder, it would retaliate by wrapping ropes around him, ripping deep furrows into his very being like razor wire.

Each time the barbs bit into him, another memory would be forced in with it. During these times, it was as if he himself was the one stuck in the cage to face the wrath of his own two brothers. The memories would go on for as long as he allowed the tangled wires to remain embedded, but despite the pain, whenever he tore free it was never on purpose.

The battle continued to rage, silently within his own mind, just like this. Each time he got a hold of the scar he would rip another fragment from it, and within the purity of his own being that fragment would fizzle out and burn without the rest to sustain it. In turn, he would also be wounded; left with more poison to eat away at his vitality like acid coursing through his veins.

It was on day seven that he found his strength had dwindled beyond what he should have allowed. Those spindly wires ripped into old wounds one last time, leaking poison like liquid nitrogen, causing his will to split and crack as it ran in rivulets.

In his head he hissed, 'No...'

The scar was wrecked, at least half the size it had been when he'd taken it from Sam and it was burning at the edges. If he stopped now, he ran the risk of it regenerating while he rested.

'No!'

Digging in deep he wrenched back for the hundredth time, and just like that, everything fell apart. Next thing he knew he was face down on the cold, white tiled floor. His mind was reeling after the beginnings of another flashback rapidly receeded. Trembling violently from exhaustion, he tried to push himself up from the floor and would have failed if someone hadn't rushed in at that moment to help.

Falling back on the bed, he heard a woman call out to him from somewhere far off. She kept trying until he turned his bleary gaze over at her. He hadn't been expecting to see Meg standing over him, in uniform no less.

"How are you doing?" she prompted.

He didn't reply until he forced himself to sit up, and immediately he noticed the twisted manifestation of his estranged brother sitting on the desk behind her. Lucifer was staring right back at him expectantly, a smug little smirk on his face.

"Welcome back, brother."

Castiel fought the wave of dizziness which nearly knocked him back down, and averted his gaze.

"Not good," he finally replied to Meg.

She scoffed, "Well, you've only been staring at the wall for a week, I'm not surprised to hear that."

"I knew it wouldn't be easy," he murmured to no one in particular, "I just hope the damage I did stays."

Meg gave him a concerned look which he did not catch.

"What are you talking about?"

"Sam's demons... I need to rest."

"I thought angels didn't sleep."

"Not that kind of rest."

He leveled his gaze with hers and she didn't say anything for a while. He could sense her worry, but at this point he was finding it hard to acknowledge.

"Dean called about you the other day, wondering how you were doing."

A sharp twist of guilt at that name made him twitch. Why would Dean still care about him? All he had felt from the hunter when he was with him last was betrayal and an odd sense of heartbreak mixed with subdued rage. Not even keeping Sam from dying a horrible screaming death via self-sacrifice was enough to fix what he had done. Nothing ever would be.

When he didn't respond, she went on.

"I told him you were out cold, because I didn't know how to explain to him you'd been staring off like a zombie for twenty-four hours straight. You want to try calling him back?"

"No."

"...Alright," she shrugged, "You need anything?"

"No."

A short silence followed. She frowned at the dishivelled angel before her, feeling more than pity; seeing him now was like watching a bird struggle with a shattered wing. The futility of it was almost heartbreaking.

"Okay, let me know if you change your mind."

She left the room.

The entire time, Lucifer had been silently observing them both. Castiel never once was able to pretend that he was gone. The archangel's presence was absolute, his grace so strong and bright that he filled the entire room with his radiance. It was nearly impossible to believe he was simply a figment of Sam's broken mind, because he looked and felt just as Castiel remembered him.

Immediately, Castiel cleared his mind to attempt another trance. His concentration wavered with a wave of pain.

"You know all of this could have been avoided if you had just sided with me in the first place," Lucifer stated.

Castiel tried to ignore him, but another attempt to go under was met with more agony. He held his head in his hands, visibly starting to tremble.

"I would have appreciated you a lot more than they do. I mean, just look at you now," he gave a dark chuckle, "reduced to Sam's personal trauma mop. And how quick was Dean to abandon you this time?"

"Please..." Castiel rasped, "you wouldn't understand."

Lucifer canted his head.

"What is there to understand, brother?"

Castiel tensed when he felt a cold caress, not to his vessel but to his true being beneath. It brushed over him, through him, refreshing and gentle. It had been so long since he'd felt another angel's touch. In reflex he looked up, for the first time meeting Lucifer's gaze.

"That, despite your betrayal," the archangel continued, "I will always love you more than they do?"

Pain showed within Castiel's blue eyes, he could not speak.

"Or is it that I would never abandon you or let you suffer alone like your beloved pets are doing, right now?"

"Stop," Castiel finally spoke, "I couldn't betray them... I deserved this, I deserve... worse... for what I've done."

"Oh, you poor little martyr," Lucifer mocked, "You sound exactly like one of those overrated meatbags this planet is crawling with."

He stood up and shouted, "You're better than that, Castiel!"

The angel stared up at his brother, his exhaustion obvious. He did not respond, nearly falling sideways when another wave of dizziness followed a sharp spike of pain. The scar was moving, writhing and crashing into the walls of his internal lockbox; it wanted to return to its parent soul. Not in the manner of a thing with a mind, but rather, the unfeeling, relentless, raw energy of iron drawn to a high-powered magnet.

He nearly fell forward again only to be caught by Lucifer. In reflex he clutched at the archangel's jacket, and he held tight even as he was helped into a sitting position. Lucifer cradled Castiel's face in his hand, tipping the younger angel's head back so that their gazes could meet once more. Lucifer's grace was so overpowering at this proximity, Castiel felt like he was being engulfed by it. How could a figment of Sam's tortured soul produce something so real? It didn't seem like it should have been possible.

"You deserve better..." Lucifer whispered.

Without the energy to move, Castiel's eyes fell shut and he leaned in to his brother's touch. The archangel's grace felt like a cool, refreshing breeze on a scorching hot day, enveloping him and suspending him in a state of comfort, free from pain if only for a fleeting moment.

He felt his older brother's free hand rest upon his shoulder, and then slowly slide down to his back. The light caress to his upper right wing made him twitch; he'd forgotten that they were still tangible even while confined within a vessel, if only for those who could access that rift between dimensions.

"Lucifer..." Castiel whispered, sounding drugged, "Do you even know what I've done...?"

The archangel smirked.

"Which part?"

Castiel winced when Lucifer suddenly gripped the base of his wing, burning him with the violence of his touch.

"I have to say, as much as I love you, Castiel, you are no God."

"I know I'm not," the younger angel gasped, "My intentions were pure, but the souls... spoke to me."

His words were cut off when Lucifer interrupted him.

"I already know that intelligence and foresight aren't your strong suits. If they were, you wouldn't be here and neither would the leviathans."

His voice maintained that gentle, bittersweet quality, and he ran his fingers lovingly through Castiel's hair.

"What I admire about you is your loyalty," he lowered his tone, "I wish I had found you first."

A sigh of relief left Castiel when Lucifer let go of his wing, before he used his other hand to tilt the younger angel's head up again. Castiel's eyes fluttered open just as Lucifer leaned down and kissed him, right on the mouth. His lips were cold, just like his aura; not unpleasant, but like a cool drink of water.

For a moment Castiel couldn't find the will to resist, even though the gentleness of Lucifer's embrace made doing so hardly a chore. His eyes closed as the archangel slid his palm over his cheek, and the kiss was temporarily broken.

"...Lucifer," Castiel whispered in a daze.


End file.
